


praise chorus

by tastyweeds



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (but we love them for it), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, of course they're a disaster, why can't we tag khalid that's his damn name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29471310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastyweeds/pseuds/tastyweeds
Summary: “I did everything exactly like we talked about, Ing, down to the last detail, and he just sat there like I’d kicked him in the teeth. Wouldn’t even look at me or the damn ring. I don’t know how I did it, but I fucked up again.”
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	praise chorus

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [redxcranberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redxcranberry/pseuds/redxcranberry) for mad beta skills. Rated T for swears.
> 
> I will argue until the cows come home that "Bleed American" (early 2Ks Jimmy Eat World) is chock-full of sylvix songs.

Sylvain’s phone vibrated with incoming texts until it slid off the kitchen counter and struck the floor in caseless, screen-cracking glory. 

Felix glanced over Sylvain’s shoulder. “Are you going to do something about that?”

“You’re fucking kidding me, Felix.”

To be fair, normally Sylvain would have unlocked the phone before the first alert finished buzzing, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have stayed kneeling on the rug while his brand-new device fell to its doom. However,  _ normally,  _ Sylvain wasn’t down on one trembling knee proffering Felix a silver band handcrafted by Zoltan herself, a ring that Sylvain spent months designing until he felt certain it was perfect, because he was not going to fuck up a proposal he’d been writing in his head since the first time they kissed. 

The ring was one hundred percent Felix. The setting was one hundred percent Felix: no friends, no fancy setting, no grand public declaration. Just a night in their cozy apartment with Kurosawa films, a tiramisu icebox pie Sylvain only ever made for them, and their cat, who he’d secretly trained to come on cue. He timed her entrance to coincide perfectly with an orchestral swell, and she’d leaped onto Felix’s lap with something shiny looped around her collar.

So why didn’t Felix look happy? Why was he perched on the edge of the couch with that tight panic flaring in his eyes and his hands cemented under his thighs, looking anywhere but at Sylvain? The ring was shaking in Sylvain’s fingers, his carefully scripted words caught in his clotting throat.

The phone buzzed again. Sylvain wanted to vomit. He made a decision.

“You know what, Felix, forget it.” He stood and shoved the ring in his pocket, trying not to cringe at the potential scuff marks it would receive there. “Clearly you’re not ready, and that’s fine, it’s fine, I’m fine—” shit, tears,  _ run — _ “like, whatever, so I’m going to get out of here while you decide whether we need to break up now, or when I get back.” 

“Sylvai—”

He was out the door, cracked phone in one hand, boots in the other, before he had to hear whatever Felix needed to say besides  _ yes _ . 

“Congratulations!” Dimitri chirped when Sylvain burst through the entry at the bottom of the fourplex’s narrow stairway. 

“Hold on, you don’t look like the smug ass I’d expect you to be once you finally put a ring on Fraldarius,” Ingrid said.

“Oh shit, what happened?” Khalid was fully ensconced in Dimitri’s bulging coat, but neither of them seemed to mind the crowd.

“Don’t want to talk about it. What time is it, nine-thirty? Let’s go out instead,” Sylvain said. He braced against Dimitri’s shoulder and jammed on his boots. Socks were overrated anyway. 

“Out? But we haven’t even gone in to pop the champagne?” Dimitri looked confused. “Should I leave the bottle here?”

“Mitya, you beautiful idiot,” Khalid leaned up to kiss Dimitri’s nose. “Stash it behind the bushes and let’s go with Sylvain. I’ll catch you up on the way, love. Hey Syl, can it be somewhere that isn’t half a mile from an el stop, please? You weirdos may be used to this abomination you call weather, but I’d like to get home without frostbite.”

“Sure, yeah, fine.” Sylvain walked faster, trying to power ahead of the fire-breathing dragon at his elbow. Unfortunately, Ingrid wasn’t easily deterred, and the light on Dearborn changed before he could slip across the intersection.

“What happened? What did you do?” she hissed. 

Sylvain shrugged, hoping she’d leave him alone if he hedged long enough. Further down the block, Khalid and Dimitri had fallen behind after spotting their favorite neighborhood cat lolling in the front window of her family’s brownstone. Dimitri had his phone out, probably for one of his effusive “Windy City Kitty” posts that kept racking up hearts.

Ingrid grabbed Sylvain by the chin and forced him to meet her eyes, face lit with worry.

“I did everything exactly like we talked about, Ing, down to the last detail, and he just sat there like I’d kicked him in the teeth. Wouldn’t even look at me or the damn ring. I don’t know how I did it, but I fucked up again.”

“None of that makes sense,” Ingrid said, furrowing her brow. “Let me text him—”

“Please don’t. Wait until I’m not around, at least? Right now, all I want is a very loud club with extremely strong drinks and a dance floor that’s so hot and sweaty, I won’t be able to think about anything but how gross I feel.”

Like he’d be able to stop obsessing about where he’d gone wrong. The whole plan went off the rails the moment Felix came home from his lab. He’d been distracted through dinner, checked his phone obsessively during the film, and seemed practically dismayed when Sylvain blushed and unbuckled the cat’s collar. 

They’d talked about hypothetical kids (terrifying, and yet…) and hypothetical last names (Fraldautier was cute, no matter what Felix said), but maybe Sylvain should have been more concrete. Maybe he should have tossed it out over pancakes to see the reaction. “Hey, Felix, pass the syrup, and if I wanted to ask you to marry me next year, would you freak out?” 

“Did someone say dancing?” Khalid grinned and bumped Dimitri’s hip with his own. “Isn’t there a club right off the blue line in Bucktown?”

Dimitri’s eye practically sparkled as he swooped Khalid into a dip. Sylvain had to admit, therapy looked good on him. So did his ring, and it made Sylvain’s heart hurt; when Khalid said yes, Dimitri was so excited that he’d leaped off his knees for a kiss and promptly headbutted his fiancé. 

“Sure, let’s go there,” Ingrid said, hooking her arm through Sylvain’s. He feigned a smile that he knew they all saw through.

They turned up their collars against the arctic blast sweeping off the lakefront and girded themselves for the purgatorial transition from frigid streets to overheated el cars.

Sylvain’s phone buzzed on the ride north, and he checked it without thinking.

_ pussycat: where are you _

His thumb hovered over the keys. Goddamn it. He wanted to be mean, but it was impossible to sustain with Felix. Easier to avoid responding at all. If Felix didn’t know who he was with, he couldn’t wheedle information out of them. Another buzz.

_ ANNIEANNIEANNIE: Ingrid says ur going to Enbarr?? i’m around the block w ashe. see u there & will text mercie _

Sylvain kicked Ingrid across the aisle.

“What? Misery loves company,” she shrugged. “Besides, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen anyone who lives on the north side.”

“You know you only moved two blocks past the arbitrary west side-north side line, right? Your neighborhood just has slightly fewer white people than you’re used to,” Khalid said.

“Actually I think her zip code’s pretty white now, because of the gentrification.” Dimitri pulled out his phone to check.

“Please don’t,” Ingrid sighed. 

Sylvain considered intervening, but he and Felix had helped Ingrid move and therefore knew for a fact that she lived above a gluten-free nanobrewery. 

A fresh-faced addition to the queer club scene, Enbarr had a line out the door. With Hilda running the place and Caspar working security, they bypassed the queue and avoided another 45 minutes of subzero shivering. Sylvain’s spirits lifted to the beat of the earnest, peppy early-2000s tracks, the dayglow strobes and packed floor. He scanned the corners until he spotted Dedue towering above Annette and Ashe.

“Hey, friend.” Sylvain pulled Dedue into a firm embrace, shouting into his ear to be heard over the din. “How did Mercedes convince you to come out?”

“She didn’t have to,” Dedue said with a cool stare, the diamond stud in his ear sparkling like a miniature disco ball. “You should know that by now.”

“Yeah, well, my self-esteem says otherwise, but hey, I’m here instead of drowning my sorrows at the dingiest bars in town. It’s progress, right?”

“Absolutely,” Annette shouted. “You’re doing great, Sylvain! I’m proud of you, big guy.” She delivered a wildly off-target high five that landed on his chest. Behind her, Ashe mimed over imbibing, then signaled that he would grab water for the group.

“Where is Mercie anyway?” Sylvain searched the crowded dance floor.

“Feeding the meter. She’ll be back in a few,” Dedue checked his phone and made a strange face that was impossible to read in the ever-changing lighting.

“Think I’ll go join the princes on the dance floor, but come find us when she’s back?” Sylvain patted Dedue’s shoulder and threaded his way through gyrating bodies to where Khalid and Dimitri danced at the opposite edge of the room.

“Remind me why we’re doing this?” Dimitri panted, his cheeks florid in the stifling air.

“Because you love me? And also you’re a disgustingly good dancer for reasons that elude me?” 

“Oh, right.” Dimitri shimmied around Khalid in a borderline obscene manner, damp hair sticking to his eye patch. 

“You should call Felix,” Khalid shouted. 

Sylvain pretended not to hear and cut in to groove between them. Eventually they laid claim to a space large enough for all of the Lions to gather, and even Dedue swayed appreciatively with Mercie wrapped in his arms. Sylvain felt his anxiety ebb, replaced by the thumping bass and the crush of the crowd. This was the right choice.

And then that stupid song started to play. It could have been any song at all. For the first year of their relationship, or maybe longer, Sylvain couldn’t listen to music without thinking of Felix. He was the shivering anticipation of an opening riff, the irresistible lure of a background hook, the perfect pointed lyric that stopped the listener’s heart. Felix was the verse, the bridge, the chorus, the rising crescendo that made Sylvain’s chest ache, and Sylvain already had the number dialed as he took the club stairs by threes to reach a small balcony that overlooked the alley.

Voicemail. Made sense — why did anyone call anyone, ever? — but he needed to say something in case courage failed him later. He dialed again. And again. 

Finally, four or five tries later, Felix answered with a sharp “What?”

“Fe, can you hear me?”

“Barely. Where the hell are you?”

Sylvain strained to hear Felix over the hubbub. “Up at Enbarr with the gang.”

“You went clubbing after you ran away from proposing to me?”

“I didn’t—” Sylvain took a breath and rubbed his face. “I’m not calling to fight, Fe. I don’t even want to talk about why you didn’t say anything. I mean, eventually I’d like to know, but right now I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You wanted to hear my voice.”

Sylvain nodded, then realized that wouldn’t work.

“Yeah, I did. Look, Felix, I’m sorry if asking you to marry me was too much, and I’m sorry that I assumed the worst and took off tonight. I panicked because I was afraid you didn’t — don’t — feel the way I do.”

“And how do you feel?” 

The words he hadn’t been able to say at home poured out in a flood. “Like I spent the first quarter of my life sleepwalking, and then I woke up in your arms and wanted to be in the world again.”

“Is that so?” Felix sounded loud and clear now.

“Yeah,” Sylvain said, wiping away tears. “It really is.”

“Then turn around and say it again.” A familiar hand settled on his shoulder. Sylvain dropped his phone off the balcony.

When he turned, he was doubly grateful for the chest-high rail, because otherwise he might have followed the device to an early grave. In Sylvain’s extremely biased but correct opinion, anything and nothing looked equally good on Felix — however, here was his boyfriend in a metallic silver pair of thigh-high boots with his hair falling loose over his shoulders and his eyes blazing under a shimmer of gold shadow and, oh saints, Sylvain was gone.

“I’m waiting, fool.” Felix crossed his arms and smirked, accentuating the black eyeliner winging above his lids.

“You came,” Sylvain said in wonder. He couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands, so he reached out and grabbed Felix by the waist, pulling him to his chest.

“Did I break your brain so easily? You’re such a whore,” Felix snorted. 

“Says the man flaunting those silver thigh-highs in my face,” Sylvain kissed the tip of his nose and Felix scoffed, feigning offense. “How did you find me?”

A commotion inside caught Sylvain’s attention. All of their friends had clustered around the balcony entrance looking suspiciously gleeful. He raised an eyebrow; Felix blushed and stepped out of their embrace and…

...wait.

Goddess damn them all, he was crying in public at a gay dance club and he didn’t even care.

“Don’t start yet,” Felix scolded, glowering up at Sylvain from where he knelt on the icy balcony grate. “I’m improvising here, since you jumped the gun on me with the whole proposal thing. You have no idea how many frantic texts I’ve been forced to read tonight.”

“I believe you sent quite a few yourself, Felix.” Dimitri popped his head through the door. Felix reached back and slammed it in his face while their friends cackled.

“Why did I think enlisting that man’s support was a good idea?”

“They knew?”

Felix looked rueful. “Annie’s the only one I told before this evening, but I’m not deaf, and no one in your secret surprise party knows how to whisper. After I heard them downstairs, all I had to do was send a few guilt-inducing texts to Mitya and he kept me up to speed on your whereabouts.” 

“Tricky bastard, I thought he was taking cat photos again.”

“Oh, he sent some of those, too. My data plan’s fucked. The rest of the crew knew to keep you here and occupied until I arrived. Anyway, I was planning to do this tomorrow, and it was going to be epic, so yes, I froze when you got there first. Now you have to take what you get.” Felix slipped his hand inside his boot cuff.

Sylvain’s heart stopped for the second time that night. 

“I’m no good with words, and you’ve never cared. You’re the only person who knows me, Sylvain. The one who makes me believe love is something I can trust. Sylvain Jose Gautier, you beautiful, imperfectly perfect man—”

Sylvain was already on his knees kissing Felix while the background erupted with cheers. 

Some songs didn’t need a familiar structure. The best one started like a whirlwind, swept him off his feet and carried him along until he couldn’t remember what the ground looked like or how the world sounded before it began. Why was it so important to ask the question anyway? Sylvain’s answer would always be yes.


End file.
